The Game
by Ellana-san
Summary: Haymitch hadn't wanted to go on that TV show to begin with. He was ex-military, it didn't mean he got his kicks putting himself in impossible survival situations – and he had seen enough bad stuff to last him a lifetime. He had refused, at first, of course. Repeatedly. But he owed Plutarch and Plutarch had been desperate. He hadn't planned on Effie Trinket. hayffie summer week day5


_Day5 is Vacation so let's take a special trip in this AU ; )_

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_**The Game**_

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Haymitch watched the woman getting dressed, not bothering to cover himself just yet. The cove they went to for their little trysts was far enough from camp that no cameras or crew would accidentally catch them at this time of night but it was also close enough that they wouldn't run into troubles. The real danger was the mosquitoes and Haymitch didn't feel the pressing need to get dressed in a hurry, not when the view was so sweet.

"You know…" Effie hummed, clasping her bra back on. "Once one of us has won this thing, we should go on a real vacation. I am thinking _anywhere_ that doesn't have coconuts milk."

He snorted, his lips stretching into a smirk as he watched her put her not-so-clean tank top back on. She had been thin at the start of this thing but she was downright skinny now.

Although he supposed a prolonged stay in a survival TV show on a wild desert island would do that to any girl.

She was still _fucking_ gorgeous, that was the problem.

"I hope you end up winning, sweetheart." he sincerely answered.

She flashed him one of those killer grins over her shoulder as she tugged her boot back on. "It will be either you or me. Together we are _unstoppable_."

He licked his lips and finally averted his eyes. The cove was peaceful at night, clear water regularly washed on the shore of white sand, there were a few rotten trees that had washed out on shore here and there… He reached out to snatch his underwear from where it had landed on top of one of them and shook it to make sure there were no insects inside.

He didn't actively move or made any effort to get his dirty boxers on though.

"Yeah… About _that_…" he hesitated. Plutarch would have his head. His arrangement with the producer was a confidential one and it was agreed it would stay that way. If word got out that he wasn't _quite_ a regular contestant…

"What is it?" She frowned, tossing the other boot back down to stare down at him, hands on her hips and lips pursed. "Please, tell me you didn't wait until _after _to tell me you wish to break our alliance."

He let out a long irritated breath because trust her to make everything complicated.

He hadn't wanted to go on that TV show to begin with. He was ex-military, it didn't mean he got his kicks putting himself in impossible survival situations – and he had seen enough bad stuff to last him a lifetime. Plutarch Heavensbee was an old friend from his army days. The man was a politician, all in for himself and always thinking three turns ahead but he had also come through for Haymitch more times than he could count when he had been in a tight spot. Haymitch owed him. Even if Plutarch now moonlighted as a TV producer.

His main show, the most popular, was a survival game about strangers set loose on a desert island. The goal was to muddle through different endurance and intelligence trials, find food and shelter, make yourself useful to the team… Some seasons had gotten extreme and there had been a near-death the previous year which was why Plutarch wanted him on the cast that year. To supervise and babysit and make sure no idiot got themselves killed trying to play Rambo.

He had refused, at first, of course. _Repeatedly_.

But he _owed_ Plutarch and Plutarch had been desperate.

He had thought it would be an easy job all things considered. Show up, stop idiots from eating poisoned berries, place snares, get a fire going…

He hadn't planned on Effie Trinket.

Reality shows, Plutarch had explained, had their codes. Typical personalities were always casted so people cheered for the jock or the bad boy or, as it turned out, for Barbie Princess.

Oh, he had hated Effie Trinket on sight when they had all met and introduced themselves on the beach after jumping from a plane straight into the sea. He didn't even get what she was doing there – he _still _didn't to be honest though she had explained several times about how it would helpfully kick start an acting careers that only consisted of a few advertisement spots so far. She was beautiful and physically perfect. She was also entitled, arrogant, reluctant to break one of her fake polished nail and had spent the first couple of weeks complaining about the lack of showers.

He had expected her to quit within a week.

She had surprised him though. She wasn't an adrenaline junkie and she wasn't one for violence – _hell_, she always turned away when he cleaned a rabbit or gutted a fish – but despite the walking cliché she liked to perpetuate, she had _brains_.

He had stuck close to her because she seemed like the most likely to get herself hurt and he _was _there to make sure no accident happened after all. At first, they had fought nonstop. It had taken weeks for them to work out a reluctant alliance that was now a well-oiled machine. They divided and conquered. She was very good at weaseling information from the other contestants and he was very good at keeping her fed; as for the trials the show regularly organized, they usually managed well enough when working together.

He wasn't sure when they had started slipping from camp at night to do more than just plan their next move.

Every week, everyone nominated two people – either because they felt they didn't contribute to camp life or because of tactics – and the audience saved one. Haymitch had never been nominated because everyone knew he was the one keeping the camp from starving. Effie had been saved by the public three times already – which suited him because he really liked the scheming sessions that ended up with sex.

He was starting to think she could win this thing.

She was still watching him with that disapproving pout, her frown slowly turning more concerned than annoyed. "Haymitch."

He forced his eyes to move away from her, down her long tanned legs and to the underwear forgotten in his hand. He rolled up on his feet and finally slipped it on. "I'm dropping out, sweetheart."

There, it was said.

He had been trying to find a good way to tell her for days now. He had gotten word from Plutarch through a trusted cameraman. There were only five of them left. Once he left, it would be the semi-final with two people being evicted at once and then… The finale.

Funny how he had been dying from day one for Plutarch to get him out and now he wished he could stay a little longer just to get _her _to the finish line.

"I beg your pardon?" she scoffed half-incredulous and half-horrified. "Why would you… What are you…" She tossed her arms in the air. "Is this some sort of ploy to get me to agree to a second round? Because I will do it without the theatrics, you know. You need only ask." She pursed her lips harder and studied him hard. "Unless you want me to beg you to stay. You should know I am game for anything by now but, please, next time you want to role play, warn me first. You almost gave me a heart attack! Dropping out… _Really._"

It took him a moment to find his shorts in the dark. He put them back on slowly, to give himself time to think.

"I miss my kids, Effie." His voice sounded rougher than he intended. Maybe because it wasn't quite a lie.

The girls were one of the reasons he had been so reluctant to help Plutarch out but _without Plutarch_ he would never have gotten custody in the first place. He probably wouldn't have enrolled in one of the top notch rehab centers in the country either.

He owed the man. Big time. Too much to screw everything up for a gorgeous pair of blue eyes.

Effie froze.

Her whole body tensed and he tried not to watch, tried to pretend he couldn't see how shocked she looked… He pulled his shirt over his head and dropped back down to the sand to put on his boots.

Her life was an open book to him because she was that sort of person who chatted to fill awkward silences – and there had been a lot of awkward silences during their acquaintances before their time together was filled with kisses and funnier activities. He knew she had a sister and two nephews, three failed engagements under her belt and a failure of an acting career. He also knew she had a cat, that her parents were loaded because her father was a business tycoon and that her mother was a _bitch_.

All he had revealed about himself really was that he used to be an army man, that he grew up in the back country and that his parents and his brother were dead. The last bit of information had slipped out without him meaning to.

"Do you also miss your wife?" she spat, pure venom in her voice.

He stopped tying his shoelaces but didn't look at her. "Never had one of those."

"Oh…" She breathed out and flopped down on the sand next to him. Anyone else would have made that look ungainly but, as with everything else she did, it was elegant. "You never told me you had children."

He wasn't supposed to tell her his life story. He wasn't supposed to see her again after he was out of the show. Plutarch had never said as much but he had assumed and he was being paid generously for his part too.

"They ain't mine by blood." He shrugged. "It's a long story."

"Tell me." she requested, settling down cross-legged.

Her knee was brushing his shin, her face was earnest… It toyed with all the lines he had been careful to put in place since the first time they had slept together. It was supposed to be just sex, nothing more, and yet…

He _liked _her, that was the thing, and he hadn't liked a woman in a long time.

They could fight _all day long_. It should have been a turn off but he actually enjoyed it because she kept up with him gibe for gibe. She dished out as much as she took. She was feisty and fiery and impossibly high-maintenance for a girl who enlisted for a survival game… He liked that she never did what he expected her to or that she could be incredibly _stupidly _girly even on a deserted island without any commodities.

And the sex was awesome.

"Look, I'm gonna tell everyone tomorrow to vote me out, alright?" he insisted. Once he was nominated, he supposed Plutarch would rig the public vote and save whoever ended up facing him. "I just wanted to warn you first."

"How many children?" she asked as if she hadn't heard him at all.

Her blond hair was tousled in wild curls that often made her complain for hours on end. He couldn't resist the urge to toy with one of the strands falling on her face. It would have been easy to tangle his fingers in that mass of curls and tug her close for a kiss, lay her down for…

"Two girls." he answered, coiling the strand of hair around his index. "Though one of them's got a boyfriend who more or less lives at home so… Three I guess."

Peeta was as much his as the girls were as far as he was concerned.

"You collect strays." she observed but she didn't say in a negative or judgmental way so he refrained from chewing her head off. "How old?"

Thinking about Katniss and Prim softened him. He let go of her hair and leaned back on his elbows, watching the stars in the clear night sky. With the sound of the sea quietly licking the beach, it could have passed for relaxing.

Not his idea of a vacation despite how Plutarch had tried to sell it but… Close enough.

"Eighteen and fourteen." he answered.

She propped an arm on his bent knee and rested her chin on it, studying him. "Old enough to fend for themselves a little bit longer." He made a face and she continued without giving him time to speak. "I understand you miss them, I _do_, but think about it this way… It has been two months. _Two months _of this _horrible _island. There are only two weeks left. We can last two weeks. Your girls can last two weeks. In two weeks, one of us will be a wealthy person and they can pay the other – and your children – _memorable_ holidays somewhere that _is not _a tropical island."

He snorted. "You're already wealthy."

"_My parents_ are wealthy." she corrected. "_I_ have a trust fund. And that is not the point. The point is…"

"Point is I'm leaving, Princess." he cut her off. "I'm sorry."

"_Two weeks_, Haymitch." she begged.

He reached for her face. "Look… Wouldn't mind… We can see each other outside… Once you've won this thing…"

She batted his hand away. "I won't win without you."

"Sure, you will." he countered but it was a bit flat. Truth was, once he would be gone, she would be easy picking. The others would gang up on her because she was too serious a contestant. People outside must have loved her to save her so many times. "I'm gonna vote for you."

"Haymitch." she insisted, forcefully lowering his leg down to straddle his lap. "I am _begging _you."

He winced. "Sweetheart, if I could…"

"What does that even _mean_?!" she hissed. "Is one of your girls ill? Has someone gotten you a message? I do not understand where this is coming from!"

He dropped flat on his back and cursed his own weakness for beautiful girls and Plutarch for his stupid ideas.

"Two weeks and then we will go anywhere you want." she repeated. "I am thinking skiing. Would your girls like skiing?"

"So it's a family vacation now?" he mocked.

"We can get them personal ski instructors while we drink spiked hot chocolates in a chalet somewhere." she hummed.

"I'm an alcoholic." he countered. He might as well toss that out in the open too. "Recovering alcoholic. Or whatever they call it."

He had stopped drinking to be granted custody of the girls and he had never regretted it but it didn't mean it had become easy to stay sober. And she very much looked like a party girl.

"Aren't you _full_ of surprises today." she deadpanned. "Fine, we will have _regular _hot chocolate. Just imagine me naked on a bear fur next to a roaring fire in a stone fireplace..."

"Now, that's a nice thought…" he snorted, his hand shooting to her waist, the tips of his fingers venturing under her tank top. It was so full of grime the red almost looked black but, unlike her, he didn't care.

"And you can have it." She grinned, rolling her hips a few times, _grinding _herself on him… "You can have it all. All you have to do is hold on fortwo_ very short_ weeks. It will fly by in _no _time."

"Can't go to the finals with you, sweetheart." he insisted even as she leaned down to kiss him, still very much rolling her hips.

"I promise I won't be mad if you win." she whispered against his lips. "As long as you take me on that holiday afterwards…"

He flipped them over so she was under him and propped himself on his elbow so he could look at her.

She wouldn't give up.

She would keep nagging and nagging and she would probably go all around camp convincing people _not _to vote against him.

She was annoying like that. A pain in his ass.

He really wanted to see her again somewhere that wasn't a deserted island with clothes they had been wearing for two months straight – there was only so much sea-washing fabric could take. But he didn't see how that would work with that kind of secrets between them.

It was a risk though.

Plutarch could lose a lot of money and his reputation on top of it…

"What is it?" she asked softly, brushing his too long hair back. "There is something you are not telling me. I can tell."

It _was_ a risk.

Did he trust her that far?

He knew he trusted her to have his back during trials but that was only staged managed ridiculous games not the real thing…

"I'm not a real contestant." he muttered.

Her eyebrows furrowed together and she went rigid underneath him. "_What_?"

"I mean…" He made a face. "I played the game like anyone else and I never got voted out so we don't know if they'd have rigged the game for me… But… Heavensbee's an old buddy of mine. I'm just here to make sure nobody kills themselves by eating poisonous berries like that chick last year. Now I've got to leave 'cause the game's almost over and me winning it was never the plan. _Hell_, they're probably not _that_ happy I threw myself with you that much. I was supposed to be a neutral agent or whatever."

She took that all in stride. "I see."

He wasn't sure she saw the whole picture but she hadn't tried to toss him off her yet so… "You're angry?"

She took a few minutes to answer that. "I am not… _thrilled_. And you are _not _getting sex again tonight."

He chuckled. "Fair enough."

She watched him attentively. "Do you truly have children?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"And no wife?" she insisted.

He rolled off her and lied down next to her on the sand, waiting for her next move. "No wife, I swear."

"Have you ever told me a lie?" she insisted. "Aside from the obvious."

He shook his head. "No."

There was a long silence during which they stared at the night sky. They should head back to camp soon, someone was bound to notice they were missing at some point…

"Is this just sex to you?" she asked in a soft hesitant voice.

His instinctive answer was to say yes but he closed his eyes instead and took another risk. He didn't know what it was with this woman… She made him feel reckless, like he was twenty years younger… "_Fuck_, no."

He felt her body relax and she rolled over to hook a leg over his hip and cushion her cheek on his chest. "Will your children like me?"

He couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Prim and Peeta, probably. Katniss doesn't like anybody but her sister and occasionally her boyfriend."

"She seems like a real charmer." Effie huffed.

"She's acquired taste." he granted.

"Like you, then." she teased.

"Right back at you, Princess." he mocked.

She let out a long sigh. "It is settled then. Once I win this, you will introduce me."

He buried his fingers in her hair. "Thought you couldn't do it without me?"

"Oh please…" she scoffed. "I was just stroking your ego to convince you to stay. I know how much you enjoy _a good stroke_." He chuckled at the dirty joke and dropped a kiss on top of her hair. "I trust two weeks won't be enough for you to forget me?"

"Honestly, sweetheart…" he heard himself confess. "… _a thousand lifetimes _wouldn't be enough."

She was that kind of woman…

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Let me know your thoughts!


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